A Red Start
by liv.einziger
Summary: Teresa Lisbon and the CBI team are called in to investigate the case of a serial killer known as Red John. As they meet the police officers who were in the case until then, they also meet a psychic who was helping them, a man named Patrick Jane.
1. Chapter 1

_**Well; this fic came from the fact that I really hope one day there will be an episode about how Jane and the CBI first came into contact – does anybody also wish that would happen in the show?**_

_**So I started writing this and I REALLY need you guys to share your thoughts with me, and tell me if you think this is worth continuing, and give me ideas**__**, and anything else you might say.**_

_**Disclaimer: besides the fact that I don't own TM, I would also like to say that, besides what we know because it appeared on the show, I felt free (or rather obliged) to imagine all the rest, so just bear with me… **_

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1.

"Let's go, Cho. Rigsby."

Teresa Lisbon placed her gun in the holster attached to her hip. Kimball Cho and Wayne Rigsby rose from their seats and got ready to join her to the crime scene, even though she wished they could stay out of it; she hated serial killers. She had hoped they didn't have to step into this mess, but it had become inevitable. Now it was CBI's jurisdiction.

"What about me, boss?" asked a young man with dark hair and green eyes.

"You stay here, Byrne, like I told you, remember?"

She noticed that Alan Byrne, the rookie agent who had just joined the team, was a bit disappointed about not going into the field, but Lisbon had told him he would be of better use back here in the bullpen. The real reason why she didn't want to bring him was that she felt protective of him, mainly because he reminded her of one of her brothers. So she didn't want him anywhere near this case, at least not while she still could avoid it.

"Poor kid," Rigsby chuckled as they got into the elevator.

"Knock it off, Rigsby," Lisbon said. "Don't forget you've already been where he is once. We all have."

"Yes, boss."

The elevator doors opened again and the three agents walked out of it, then hurriedly across the main entrance of the building and on their way to the parking lot.

"So it's been what? Eight victims now?" Cho asked, opening the driver's side door.

Among Lisbon's agents, Cho was the one she saw more as a partner than a subordinate.

"Yup," she answered, with no enthusiasm.

"Freaking psycho," Rigsby commented, already settled in the backseat. "What's with the stupid smiley face on the wall?"

"It's his trademark," Lisbon said, sighing. She really did hate serial killers.

"Well, let's do this," Cho said, turning the engine on and maneuvering the car out of the parking lot.

"So the feds are coming?" Detective Willow asked.

"Not exactly the feds. It's the state police, CBI."

The guy who had answered Peter Willow's question was one that Patrick Jane remembered having seen around the precinct, maybe once or twice. But he didn't know his name, as well as he had never heard of this CBI thing.

"California Bureau of Investigation," the man was clarifying.

Did that mean that the police didn't own the case anymore? Jane was beyond all that bureaucratic crap among law enforcement agencies. He didn't particularly like hanging out with these people, but it brought him very good publicity. Whenever his name came out in the news alongside the investigation, his number of clients skyrocketed. Angela wasn't very fond of the idea of him working with the cops, though; she found it dangerous. One night, she had suggested he stopped helping the police.

"Why?" he had asked her.

"Because they don't need you. Besides, what if they find out you're faking it?"

He had smiled. "Honey, I'm not faking it."

"Right," she had said. "Are you going to tell me you really have visions and feelings about the case?"

"In a way I _do_ see what other people don't," he had argued.

"You know what I mean. You're not a real psychic."

"Baby, nobody is," he had replied, grinning. "But if you're worried they're going to accuse me of _not_ being a psychic, you can rest assured that this will never happen. I _do_ help them a lot, you know."

"I know but… what if something happens to you? If this guy, this… what's his name again?"

"Red John."

"What if he decides to do something against you?"

"Why would he?" Jane had grinned again, but it had made Angela angry.

"You don't take anything seriously, do you?"

He had let his smile fade.

"I'm sorry. I was just trying to convince you that there is nothing to worry about. I don't even talk to the police that often, and this guy, he doesn't even know who I am."

Angela had sighed, looking at him in defeat.

"Promise you'll be careful."

"I promise," he had said, smiling again.

Red John had attacked again, so Jane had contacted the police to offer his services again. Detective Willow had thanked him profusely, yes, they could really use his help. If there wasn't a breakthrough, the case would be off their hands; the "feds" would invade their precinct with their big cars and guns and suits and try to handle the case on their own. But Jane had had no time to provide a breakthrough; when he had arrived, the talk about the police losing jurisdiction on Red John was already all over the place. Detective Willow, who was a short, half-bald, chubby man, was running around, talking to someone, to somebody else, answering the phone. When he finally approached Jane, he had disappointment in his expression.

"Hey, Patrick. Sorry to keep you waiting. I was just confirming it, and yes, the case is not ours anymore. State police is coming around. We'll meet them at the crime scene. I just spoke to this Agent Lisbon, head of the unit, they'll be there any minute."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Pete. I'm really sorry. I know you've done your best."

"Thanks, man. Without your help, we wouldn't have done much. Come on, let's go."

Willow tapped his back affectionately as they walked towards the car. Jane was impressed by his own ability of saying sorry when he didn't mean it. And nobody could ever tell he was lying. Anyway, he didn't really like the idea of the Red John case being handled by someone else; as much as he didn't enjoy working with the police, he was already used to Willow and his colleagues; he already knew his way around each one of them. Now, if he wanted to continue helping on the case, he would have to make friends with this Agent Lisbon and whoever his other colleagues were. Well, that wouldn't be hard, Jane was sure. Cops were cops everywhere, and, after his experience with Willow and co., he could say he was a cop whisperer. He had to make an effort so as not to laugh at that thought. And if this was state police, the publicity could be even bigger.

A few minutes later, they were at the crime scene. The first thing Willow did was make sure the CBI hadn't arrived yet. He seemed calmer after that.

"A few more minutes of peace," he explained.

Jane nodded, smiling. They walked into the property, a big, very well decorated house. The body was upstairs, so they went there to take a look. Upon entering the bedroom, the first thing anyone would notice was a red smiley face painted on the wall. With the victim's blood. It was sort of creepy, but Jane was in a hurry to get out of there for other reasons; he wanted to be home by noon, so he could have lunch with Charlotte. He enjoyed spending all the time he could with his daughter, and valued the little things and ordinary moments beside her, like having meals. The body was on the bed, with cuts all over, the mattress stained with blood. Just like all the others.

"Any insights, Patrick?" Willow asked.

"Only that it was him, no doubt. And that I'm hungry."

The two exchanged a look. Jane smiled, widely.

"Does anything ever get to you?" The detective asked.

"Of course," Jane answered, defensively. "But my being upset won't bring her back. Will it?"

Willow smiled, shaking his head.

"Let's go downstairs, wait for _them_."

As soon as they had reached the front door, they saw a black SUV pulling over.

"That must be them," Willow nudged Jane.

He watched as three people came out; a tall man, a shorter one, with Asian features, and a petite woman, with straight hair just below her shoulders. He tried to guess which was Agent Lisbon. The tall guy? No, he didn't look like a boss. Maybe the Asian guy, he had been the one who was driving, and he had a really serious look on his face. But then he noticed that the Asian guy let the woman walk past him, leading their group ahead; she was a beautiful woman, with delicate features and big, round green eyes. Even though she looked sort of fragile, her whole demeanor was authoritative, and she moved as though she wanted to make her position very clear; maybe _she_ was Agent Lisbon.

When the trio reached the two of them, the woman offered her hand to Peter Willow.

"Detective Willow?" she asked.

"That's me," Willow replied, taking her hand and shaking it.

"I'm Agent Teresa Lisbon," she said, and Jane stopped himself from smiling at the fact that he was right. Well, when was he ever wrong? "These are Agents Cho and Rigsby."

"Hello there," Willow said, a bit embarrassed. Then he turned to Jane. "This is Mr. Patrick Jane, he consults on the case."

Lisbon politely shook Jane's hand, and he was impressed by her firm grip. The first thing she noticed about him was his wide smile, which looked great – he was a handsome man – but was completely inappropriate for a crime scene, let alone a Red John crime scene. He was probably an idiot, but it made her suddenly curious that a clown like that was consulting on the Red John case.

"May I ask what your area of expertise is, Mr. Jane?"

His smile widened even more.

"I'm a psychic."

He watched as Teresa Lisbon grimaced, trying to keep her disapproving thoughts from manifesting in her expression. Unsuccessfully.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Thank you so much to the people who have read and enjoyed the first chapter. **_

_**This chapter has been written on the same day that the first one. The reason I waited so long to publish it was that I wanted to write more, I wanted to feel surer of this story first. This hasn't exactly happened, but I want to continue writing this and I count on your support and your patience if it takes me longer than usual to update…**_

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2.

Detective Willow and Patrick Jane joined the CBI team as they took a look at the crime scene. Lisbon was shocked at the sight; she had read reports, heard comments and even seen pictures, but being in person in a Red John crime scene was a kick to the stomach. As they observed, the psychic, who really turned out to be an idiot, was explaining everything about the serial killer to them; his crimes, the way he did it, what he felt, what he wanted. Lisbon didn't want to be rude in front of the detective, but she was about to lose her temper and tell the clown in a three-piece suit to shut up.

After they left the room, forensics took over and the body was taken to the morgue to be examined by the coroner. The name of the victim was Allison McLane, she was twenty-nine years old and was married. Her husband had found her dead, and had barely been able to call 911. He was now in the hospital, because he had fainted after the police had arrived. He would have to be questioned, so the hospital was the next stop. Lisbon didn't expect anything new to come out of the interview or even the examination of the body and the crime scene; Red John never left any traces, never made any mistakes, at least according to the previous police reports.

"Thanks a lot, Detective Willow," Lisbon said, before getting into the car, where Rigsby and Cho already were.

"Thank you, Agent. Are you going to talk to the husband now?"

"Yes, we are."

"Why don't you take Patrick, here? He's of great help in an interview."

"The psychic?" Lisbon realized she had used a mocking tone. "Thank you, but we won't be needing him."

Jane smirked, a few steps behind Willow. So this Agent Lisbon didn't believe in psychics? Well, he was going to have to make her believe. He had been reading her the whole time.

"Are you sure?" Willow was asking. "This guy knows more about Red John than the entire force."

"I bet I also know more about you than yourself, as well," he said, walking towards her now.

"Oh really?" She folded her arms.

"Really," he smiled. "I know that you've wanted to be a cop since you were very young, probably because of something that happened in your past… Something traumatic."

Lisbon was taken aback. Jane took a few more steps in her direction.

"Maybe you've been abused as a child. Not sexually… By an authority figure. Your father, maybe?"

"Shut up, I have no time for guessing games," she started to turn around, but he went on.

"That cross you wear around your neck. It belonged to someone close to you. Someone you've lost."

"That's enough!" she turned around to fully face him now. "Another word and I'll arrest you for harassment."

Jane raised both hands in front of him.

"I was just trying to show you that my insights are accurate. They can be helpful. And besides, it will give Pete here some peace of mind if someone he knows is still on the case." He had said the last part in a really low voice, so the detective wouldn't hear him.

"No way, I don't ever want to see you again in my life."

"All right, I'm sorry."

She stared at him for a moment.

"You don't mean that."

"Excuse me?" he asked. Had she really caught him in the lie or was she bluffing?

"Have a nice day, Mr. Jane," she said, turning to leave.

Jane held her by her arm.

"Teresa… be reasonable. Do you want to catch this killer or not?"

She looked at him, with fire in her eyes. She moved her arm forcefully to free it from his grip.

"Lisbon," she said, between clenched teeth. "You call me Agent Lisbon. Now get out of my face."

She angrily moved away from him and got into the car. Jane watched, smiling, as the SUV left. Teresa Lisbon was undoubtedly a challenge, and one thing he loved was a challenge. He was going to win, when did he ever lose? Oh, and of course, working with the CBI would give him the visibility to attract more and more clients.

Lisbon still shook a little with anger as Cho drove on the way to the hospital where Mr. McLane was. How could someone be so obnoxious? And how dared he talk about who she had lost or what she had suffered as a child? How did a person like that sleep at night?

"You all right, boss?" Rigsby asked.

"I'm fine," she answered dryly.

They identified themselves at the hospital and asked where Mr. Bradley McLane's room was. A nurse took them there and told them he was fine, but had been crying for hours. They entered the room slowly. The man wasn't crying now, but his face was swollen like he had been crying for a long period of time, not long before that.

"Mr. McLane?" Lisbon said.

The man, who seemed to be in his early thirties, turned to look at her.

"I'm Agent Teresa Lisbon, and these are Agents Rigsby and Cho. We're with the CBI."

McLane didn't answer; he just looked back at her, with hopelessness in his expression.

"And I am Patrick Jane," came a voice from the door.

Lisbon turned around to look, incredulous. Jane smiled at her.

"We need to ask you a few questions," Cho was saying, ignoring the intruder.

"What are you doing here?" Lisbon snarled at Jane.

"I'm here to help," he answered, in a low voice and with a serious expression.

"We don't need your help," she replied, turning to look at McLane again.

"… all I know is that when I came home…" McLane was saying, and then he stopped talking and started crying.

"Mr. McLane," Jane said, walking further into the room and past Lisbon. "We believe that the man who murdered your wife might have been watching her for some time, targeting her. Did you notice anybody or anything out of the ordinary?"

"No, I didn't, and neither did she," the man answered through his tears. "She would have told me if she had noticed anything."

Lisbon saw Jane smirk. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" McLane asked.

"Well, she obviously didn't tell you everything. She was having an affair."

"What?" McLane asked, looking horrified.

"That's enough," Lisbon said, getting a hold of Jane's arm and pulling him outside the room.

As soon as they were out in the hallway, she took him by the collar of his shirt and threw him against the wall.

"What the hell do you think you're doing? The man is mourning his _dead_ wife!"

"Whoa," he said, smiling, "Teresa, I _do_ like it rough, but the thing is… I'm married." He lifted his left hand to show the ring.

"This is the last time," she said, "that I'll warn you to call me Lisbon. I'm not Detective Willow and this is not your amusement park. This is the California Bureau of Investigation. You show some respect."

He smiled crookedly. "In fact, this is a hospital."

Lisbon let go of him. He straightened his clothes, thinking that he should give up on calling her by her first name; in her case, that approximation technique didn't seem to work very well.

"All right then, _Lisbon_. Why do you hate the idea of me helping you so much? You're afraid you'll no longer be the smartest person in the room?"

"The reason I hate the idea is because I hate you. You're arrogant, disrespectful, pushy, inappropriate, and a complete pain in the ass!"

"My first impression of you was very good, too."

"How did Detective Willow even put up with you at all? Did he let you talk to people like that? You can't talk to people like that. And how the hell did you know that anyway?"

"Well…" his voice trailed off, and he shrugged. "It's what I do. I _know_ things."

"Still, you could have used your psychic powers to gather something useful to the case."

"There _was_ nothing useful to gather here."

Lisbon hesitated in firing back; she didn't want to admit he was right. The husband didn't know anything. Jane seemed to realize what was on her mind, because he smiled smugly.

"You're a piece of work," she said.

"I get results. Let me stick around for the day. You won't regret it."

"I already do." She paused for a while. "Look, you want to tag along, fine. But make sure you stay out of my way."

With that she left, and he watched her walk away, smiling at his first small victory. A few minutes later, the other two agents got out of the room, eyeing him with a mixture of curiosity, amusement and annoyance. He nodded at them, smiling widely.

"Agent Rigsby. Agent Cho."

Then, he followed his new colleagues out of the hospital. Lisbon was standing next to the SUV when the three arrived at the parking lot.

"McLane didn't know anything," Cho said.

"Apparently, he really didn't know _anything_," Rigsby commented, grinning.

Lisbon just glared at him, making him stop immediately. Jane was smiling at the whole thing.

"Waste of time as expected," she said. "Let's go."

When she and the two other agents were already in the car, Lisbon lowered the driver's side window.

"Are you coming?" she asked Jane.

He seemed unsure, squinting at the sunlight.

"Well, actually I'm going home, to have lunch with my daughter. Would you drop me off at the precinct? I left my car there."

Lisbon scoffed.

"Take a cab."

And she pulled away, leaving him standing there by the curb.


	3. Chapter 3

_**I'm really sorry it took me so long to update; the main reason was I was focused on finishing my other story "The Impasse". **__**I can't promise to be much faster in the future, though, because I'm now back to full work hours and my classes have started as well. Well, enough with the apologies.**_

_**So far I'm just having fun with this story – and I hope so are you –, which makes me think I should change the genre. I don't know yet about that, but, anyway, here's the third chapter and I really hope you enjoy it! Please let me know by writing me a review!**_

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3.

Lisbon arrived at the CBI Headquarters feeling so hungry that it felt like she hadn't eaten for days. She went straight to the kitchen, where she took her lunch from the fridge and put it in the microwave. It couldn't finish heating soon enough. She had sent Rigsby and Cho back to interrogate the people who took care of security in the condominium where the McLanes' house was. She had then gone to run some errands of her own; pay bills, for which purpose she had had to stand in line in the bank for ages; and send some money to Tommy, having to stand in line again at the post office. Had she known this would be the day her unit would take charge of the Red John case, she would have done these things the day before, but she couldn't leave them for the next day.

So now, that the microwave had finally finished heating her lunch, she was carrying it to her office, where she had some paperwork to take care of. As she passed by the bullpen, she realized Byrne wasn't there, but as weird as she found it, she didn't do anything; all she wanted was to reach her office and have her meal. As she approached her destination, though, she started to hear the young agent's voice.

"Sir, you can't stay here, let me take you to an interrogation room…" he was saying when she entered.

"What's going on?" she asked.

When Byrne turned to face her, she saw the "sir" sitting comfortably on her couch: Patrick Jane. He waved a hand at her like someone who sees a good friend after a long while. Byrne looked confused; the rookie agent stuttered when he spoke.

"Th-this man just came in and sat here, saying he was going to wait for you. I was trying to explain…"

"That's ok, Byrne," she reassured. "I know him."

At first he seemed relieved; then, he seemed puzzled. Maybe he had interpreted the "I know him" message the wrong way.

"Not the way you're thinking, young man," Jane said, amused, reading the boy's reaction as that of a scared son who didn't know his mom had a new boyfriend.

"He didn't think anything," Lisbon intervened. "Agent Alan Byrne, this is Patrick Jane. He was working with the police on the Red John case."

Byrne and Jane shook hands; the first looking frightened, and the latter like he had just heard the funniest joke he had ever heard.

"I guess you guys have, uh… _inherited_ me along with the case," Jane commented, and Lisbon couldn't get over how irritating he was.

No longer caring whether Byrne and Jane and whoever else was there, she just walked past them and sat behind her desk, starting to eat lunch. Byrne left, still confused, and Jane was watching her with a smug smile. Lisbon guessed he wore it all the time.

"What?" she asked, with her mouth full.

Jane chuckled. That was a rare kind of woman, he thought. She was so stunningly beautiful, yet she seemed unaware of her seductive powers and behaved like a tomboy. She had obviously grown up around boys. Maybe it was her mother who had died?

"You always eat lunch while working? That's no way to live."

"What are you doing here? And how did you get past security anyway?"

"Well, by now you should know I have my ways. And what I'm doing here? I'm here to work. I told you I was going to have lunch with my daughter, I did, and now I'm here."

Lisbon raised her eyebrows.

"Whatever," she said, a pen in one hand, the fork in the other.

That's when she heard a knock on the open door; Rigsby and Cho were standing there. Apparently, the universe was conspiring against her having lunch that day. They eyed Jane suspiciously, as though wondering if he was really going to stick around.

"What did you find?" Lisbon asked, in a bad mood already.

"They all say they don't know anything," Rigsby said, making Lisbon sigh with irritation.

"But we think someone _does_ know something," Cho said. "For what we could observe, the security system would have had to be rigged in order for somebody to enter."

Jane's attention got lost while Rigsby and Cho explained to their boss the technical details on why it was impossible for someone to get into the condominium and the house unless someone responsible for security had facilitated their entrance. All he knew was that they had to find out who, among all security employees, and he was already thinking of a plan to get them a fast and accurate answer. That would _have_ to impress Lisbon in order to get him in her good terms.

"What are we going to do?" Lisbon was asking, "Interrogate one by one expecting one to crack and admit he helped Red John get in?"

"That would be extremely unnecessary," Jane said, standing up, triumphantly.

Lisbon scoffed, looking at him incredulously.

"Why, you're going to find out who it is with your crystal ball?"

"To be honest, I don't possess one," he answered, smiling lightly, making Lisbon roll her eyes. "But I do have a suggestion. Actually, a whole plan."

Since he didn't seem like he was going to say anything else, Lisbon spoke.

"You mind sharing?"

"Meh," he waved his hand. "Why waste time explaining. It's best to show you, come on."

Rigsby and Cho started moving, but Jane stopped them with a gesture. "I only need Agent Lisbon."

She approached him cautiously.

"What's the damn plan?"

"Why are you so stressed out?" he asked, squinting at her. "Just come with me."

He pulled her by her arm and led her out of the office. Rigsby and Cho cringed at each other.

"The guy is totally nuts," Rigsby said.

"And has a death wish," Cho complemented.

Surprisingly for them, though, Lisbon went with Jane towards the elevator. She was already missing her barely touched lunch.

"Where are we going?"

"To buy a new house for us, my love." He smiled at her with seductive eyes.

She wasn't amused. It was obvious he believed his flirtatious tone and his wide smiles would help him get what he wanted from her, and she pitied him; he clearly did not know her. He held the elevator door for her to enter, and then entered after her.

"Seriously, where?"

"I'm serious," he argued, "We'll go undercover and pretend that we're looking for a house there."

"But they saw us there, when we were checking out the crime scene."

"That's why we'll need different outfits. And a fake engagement ring."

Lisbon couldn't believe he was serious.

"You watch too much TV. Going undercover is not that simple…"

"Meh," he interrupted her. "What I know is not from watching TV, believe me."

He removed his wedding ring from his finger with ease, and slipped it into his vest pocket.

"I bet you do that a lot," Lisbon said, thinking aloud.

To her surprise, Jane faced her with a very serious expression.

"What are you implying, Lisbon? That I'm unfaithful to my wife?"

She felt tempted to apologize, but then she remembered who she was talking to.

"I was just kidding, and if you found it disrespectful, well, I'm not sorry. You bring it on yourself."

Jane smiled.

"Oh, don't worry, I'm not offended. I'm actually flattered. It wasn't exactly disrespectful, only a little aggressive. You should work on your come-on techniques."

He exited the elevator, looking really pleased with himself, while Lisbon was astonished.

"Excuse me?" she said, following him hurriedly.

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If somebody asked – if her subordinate agents asked, if her boss asked, if _she_ asked herself – Lisbon wouldn't be able to explain what made her let Jane drive. _And_ agree to go with him in his own car, a light blue, vintage Citroën. Surprisingly, the charming, theatrical charlatan had a thing for speed; the man drove way too fast, and wouldn't obey her orders to slow down. And that was not the only problem; he had lured her into letting him by saying they would get where he wanted faster if he drove, because he knew the way, but the truth was he wanted to get her out of town; when she had realized they were driving to Malibu, she felt tempted to try to forcefully take the steering wheel. To avoid dying in a car crash with that stupid creature, though, she contained herself.

Lisbon felt a bit embarrassed to enter his mansion; being a reserved person herself, she didn't like to bring just anybody to her home, and she felt now just as uncomfortable to be entering the house of someone she barely knew. Jane didn't seem to mind, though: he seemed like a tour guide. The living room was beautifully decorated, but there were a lot of toys disrupting the order. For some reason, she found it lovely, in a way, that the parents wouldn't mind their expensive-looking home being turned into a playground for their beloved child. To break the ice, she threw a playful comment.

"Clearly, I've chosen the wrong career."

Jane grinned.

"The only problem is that you'd have to be a psychic to be able to choose a career as a psychic," he commented, playfully as well, while in his mind he fully appreciated the humor in his own comment.

"Right," she agreed, raising an eyebrow that made it very clear to him that she still didn't buy it that he had real powers.

He suddenly turned to her with a completely different light in his eyes.

"Would you like to meet my daughter? She must be upstairs."

Lisbon was a bit surprised at how proud he seemed. Still, she was in a hurry. And of course, she didn't trust him; maybe the whole proud daddy thing was just an act, too.

"I'd like to get down to business," she answered simply.

Jane seemed a bit disappointed.

"Absolutely," he said, smiling anyway. "I'll just go change, I'll be back in a minute."

When he did come back, about fifteen minutes later, he was wearing jeans and a polo shirt, almost resembling an ordinary man – except for the fact, and Lisbon wished he really couldn't detect the thought going through her mind somehow, that he looked extremely handsome. He smiled widely when he reached her.

"How do I look?" he asked teasingly, and Lisbon was sure he _had_ read her thoughts.

"What about me?" she asked, eager to change the subject. "Do I have to change?"

He analyzed her from head to toe, and it made her feel embarrassed and self-conscious.

"Not much," he answered, and offered her a light green cardigan. "Substitute the jacket with this. Then lose the gun and badge, of course."

Jane observed how his wife's cardigan was a little loose for Lisbon. He noticed how small she was. If he didn't already know better, he would think she looked almost fragile. Anyway, he really had made the right choice; the green of the cardigan matched her eyes perfectly. She seemed uncomfortable with him watching her, and he wondered why; didn't she know how beautiful she was? How come she wasn't married yet? Probably had to do with the traumas in her past. He felt sorry. Truly sorry.

"And put this on," he said, offering her a golden ring with a shining rock in the center, after she had gotten rid of the badge and the gun holster that were once tied to her jeans.

Lisbon froze. She wanted to protest, but found no words.

"Don't worry," he reassured her. "It's not a real engagement ring. It's not even valuable."

It sure looked like it was. Hesitantly, Lisbon let him put it on her ring finger. He smiled.

"Oh, there's something else." He offered her a hat and sunglasses. "This will make it harder for them to recognize you."

"I have sunglasses."

"You have _cop_ sunglasses, I'm sure."

Against her will, she put on the sunglasses and hat.

"You're ready," he said, smiling widely. "Let's go."


	4. Chapter 4

**_I barely remember how to post chapters! Kidding. I hate to take so long to update, but my routine has been tough lately. _**

**_Still, I'm very happy to be posting this chapter today and I hope you guys enjoy it. Please let me know what you think!_**

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4.

Lisbon hated not being in control over anything in her life, but she hated not being in control over work-related situations the most. Normally, she would never authorize, not to mention participate in operations badly planned with strangers that didn't even work for the bureau. As a general rule, actually, she never made impulsive or sloppy decisions, especially decisions concerning her work. And there was something else; she wasn't at all fond of people who acted against principles, morals, regulations and better judgment, like Patrick Jane. Taking all that into consideration, she thought to herself as they drove, why the hell was she in costume, in the middle of the afternoon, with an alleged psychic whom she had met earlier that day and whom she absolutely hated? She wouldn't know; maybe he had mind tricked her. He certainly had mind tricked her. He had powers, all right.

Jane parked the car a block away and they walked the rest of the way towards the entrance. Lisbon rolled her eyes when he took her hand in his and put that hateful, arrogant smile on his face. He was thinking that, disguised as a common woman Lisbon sort of lost her unique appeal, or, in other words, what made her stand out as compared to other women who were also beautiful. Dressed in that green cardigan, with sunglasses and a hat, she just looked like any other beautiful woman.

He had called the real estate agent before driving, and he was now waiting for the two of them. He was a man in his forties, tall and a little overweight, with hair starting to fall out; he also seemed to be feeling uncomfortable in that suit under the scalding California sun. Jane felt agony at the sight of sweat forming on his forehead. They smiled at each other like old friends, and Lisbon felt relieved to be wearing sunglasses because she hadn't been able to contain an urge to roll her eyes once again.

"Mr. Brenner," the man said, enthusiastically, holding out a hand for Jane to shake. "I'm Richard Blake, we spoke on the phone."

"Hello, Mr. Blake," Jane replied, shaking the man's hand vigorously. "Thanks for meeting us."

"It's my pleasure, Mr. Brenner."

Jane threw his arm around Lisbon's shoulder, and she forced a smile. The proximity made her feel extremely uncomfortable, though, and she was extremely annoyed to consider that the reason might have to do with somehow _enjoying_ it. She shook the thought off in her mind. What a ridiculous idea, she told herself.

"This is my lovely fiancée, Emma. The future Mrs. Brenner."

As he said that, Jane squeezed Lisbon lightly, noticing how small she was. The way she behaved and imposed herself made her not seem so fragile, but the truth was that, under his touch, that's how she seemed to him.

"She really is lovely," the man agreed, shaking her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine," Lisbon forced herself to say.

"Well, if you'd join me," Blake started, "I'll take you to the house…"

"Actually," Jane interrupted, "we were a little worried, is it true that there has been a murder here, very recently?"

Blake seemed suddenly very uncomfortable.

"Uh, well, yes, but…"

"We would like to make sure it's really safe in here," Jane interrupted, slowly removing his arm from around Lisbon and still using his nicest tone. "Can you show us the security system?"

"Oh certainly," Blake started hesitantly, "we have a very sophisticated surveillance system and…"

"No, seriously, can you show it to us? I'd like to see it." Jane made a pause and then flashed his widest, warmest smile. "Please?"

Minutes later they were entering the security office, where several monitors showed the images from the surveillance cameras spread all over the place, and where the equipment used by the guards was kept. Jane started conversations with the guards who were there, and Lisbon was truly amazed by how easily he could make people talk to him, and make them do what he wanted; the next thing she knew, he was finding a way of talking to all the other guards, making up stories to make them interested, and making them talk to him like he was an old friend of theirs. She just stayed back, watching.

After about twenty minutes making what seemed like pointless conversation with the guards, there was a moment when Jane focused on one of them, and then directed practically all his attention to him. He also started tapping the guard's shoulder in a really odd way, and then walked out of the office with him, politely and cheerfully saying goodbye to the others. Lisbon followed them outside, and became completely astonished as she heard what the man was telling Jane when she reached them.

"It was me," he was saying, "I helped Red John enter the house."

Jane looked at her with a wide, proud smile. She was undoubtedly impressed, but not because she thought what he had done had been amazing, but because she had found the whole act very weird. She took her cell phone, dialed Cho's number, and then proceeded to handcuffing the man, who didn't seem to be quite noticing what was going on around him. Then, she told everyone who she was and what was really going on. She didn't find the real estate agent, but supposed he was probably taking care of his next appointment. As she showed her badge around, Jane amused himself at the sight of the real Lisbon, and at how she liked to make it very clear that she was the authority.

Cho arrived with Byrne about fifteen minutes later and the two agents took the man, whose name was Jordan Maple, away to the headquarters. Strangely, when they were leaving, Maple did not seem to remember having confessed to helping Red John at all. And, coincidentally, his amnesia started when Jane tapped his shoulder in a friendly way, telling him they'd meet again soon, back at the HQs. After he had left with Cho and Byrne, Lisbon approached Jane. He smiled, knowing what was to come.

"All right, spill," she ordered, hands on her waist and everything. "How the hell did you do that?"

"What are you talking about?" he asked, trying to divert her.

She just glared at him; he knew very well what she was talking about. However, he just shrugged, smiling, and started to walk away.

"Where are you going?" she asked, indignantly.

"Leaving! Or did you think we were really going to buy a house?"

The amount of fun he was having and she was, in consequence, _not _having at all, made her terribly mad. She exhaled sharply and walked past him, with him following her. After a while, she spoke again, her attention back in place.

"No, you did something. You did something to that man to make him confess." She stopped walking. "What did you do?"

"Come on Lisbon, I just befriended him and made him comfortable enough to talk to me. He was dying to tell somebody."

He knew she wouldn't buy it; that was part of the fun.

"And how come did he not remember he had told you anything?"

"Well," he argued, "when he realized we were police, he just started denying everything. It's natural."

"No, that's not what happened," she said, and Jane watched her mind at work. "You tricked him somehow you… you hypnotized him or something."

He looked surprised. So that was it? He had hypnotized the guy? Lisbon wasn't even sure she believed such a thing was possible, but after what she had just witnessed, it was certainly the best explanation she could find.

"You hypnotized him!" she repeated, shock all over her face.

Jane was surprised at first, but she was smart; she wouldn't just buy what detective Willow would. If he intended to work with her for much longer, he would have to get used to that. Since she had guessed it, he found no reason to deny.

"Come on Lisbon, I only put him in a light trance to make sure he was the one."

The tranquility with which he said that made her want to scream. Didn't he know how wrong and against regulations that probably, certainly was?

"How _did_ you know he was the one anyway? In the middle of all those guards? And don't say psychic powers!"

Smiling, he walked past her without answering, walking slowly towards his car. She took off the cardigan and left it along with the hat and sunglasses – which she had taken off as soon as they had revealed the operation – on the backseat of the car. Then she took the passenger seat and asked where she was supposed to leave the ring.

"I don't know," Jane answered, shrugging, as he took his own seat. "Glove compartment, I guess."

She did so while he tried to start the car; it didn't work. He tried again. Nothing.

"What the hell is going on?" Lisbon asked.

"I don't know, this has never happened before."

That was not exactly true. But what would be the use of telling Lisbon that his car had failed a few times in extremely hot days such as this one?

"Oh, great! I have to go back to the headquarters, I have to be there for the interview!"

"Calm yourself, woman," he said as he tried again.

Without an answer, Lisbon opened the door and got out of the car. Jane followed.

"Where are you going?"

"I have to take a cab!"

"Don't be silly, let's take the bus, there's a stop over there."

"No way I'm listening to you again."

The way she got so irritated all of a sudden and started blaming everyone around her could be very annoying, Jane thought.

"What? So this is my fault? I certainly did not want my car to break down out of nothing!"

"I assume you also didn't mean to hypnotize a suspect?"

What did that have to do with anything? She only had a suspect thanks to him, anyway!

"Who is only now arrested _because_ I hypnotized him."

Lisbon suddenly realized that it had been extremely stupid to even consider the possibility of something good coming out of the cooperation between that man and her team.

"This was a mistake. I'm leaving."

Jane wouldn't know how to explain what took over him and made him do it, but he forcefully held her by her arm to keep her from leaving. Maybe it was the fact that she wasn't so easily manipulated, differently from the people he normally dealt with.

"Damn it, why are you so stubborn?" he said, with an intensity that surprised both of them.

"Why do you care?" she replied, furious, freeing her arm.

They just stared at each other like that for a while, both angry and not sure they understood what exactly was going on, until a loud engine sound made Jane look away.

"The bus!" he said. "It's going downtown, come on!"

Then he started to run, dragging Lisbon along with him by holding her arm again, and, without thinking much about it, she got on the bus after him. Once again she had let him make her do something she wouldn't normally do. What was it with that man and his ability to manipulate her?


	5. Chapter 5

5.

Jane found two empty seats and politely gestured for Lisbon to sit first. She did so without looking at him, even though she bothered to emit an unsatisfied sigh at the exact moment she walked past him. When she had already taken her seat, he sat next to her. After several minutes in silence as the bus started to move slowly, Jane was the first to speak.

"I can tell where that man is getting off the bus," he said, pointing at some guy sitting nearby.

He had been observing everyone in the bus during those idle minutes and was, as always, anxious to perform for an incredulous audience such as his companion. Lisbon just rolled her eyes, impatiently, and decided not to say anything; she wouldn't take the bait.

"Okay," he said, smiling, "then choose somebody else. Who do you want?"

Lisbon exhaled and looked at him.

"I don't care."

"Oh, come on…" Jane said. "Look at him," he pointed at the first man. "he's getting off in two stops."

"Uh-huh," Lisbon muttered, looking out the window.

"You've been warned," Jane teased.

Two stops later, the man stood up from his seat and got off the bus. Lisbon couldn't help being impressed; was Jane a mind reader now? What planet was he from?

"See?" Jane smirked. "I bet you want to know how I did it. I can do it again, pick somebody else."

She glared, sighing.

"How do you do it?" she ended up asking, both out of curiosity and hoping he would be quiet after he showed off. The question was, how much was enough showing off for this guy?

Without an answer, just looking deep into her eyes and then looking away, he pointed at a woman who was entering the bus and who took a seat next to the door, watching the street out the window.

"She's getting off in one or two stops, she's not sure."

Lisbon waited patiently until the prediction played out perfectly. All right; she was dying to know by now. If he said he could read minds, she might even come to believe him.

"How the hell did you do that?" she asked, wishing she hadn't asked with too much anxiousness.

To Jane's own surprise, something in her expression made him want to let her in on the secret. Maybe it was the way all her emotions showed so clearly on her face. It was almost as if it was unfair not to tell the truth to someone who was so incapable of lying. Except that nobody before had inspired in him such an incontrollable urge to be truthful. Only his wife and daughter, but they belonged in a separate, isolated place in his mind and his heart, and his actions towards them took place accordingly. He decided not to question that at that particular moment, but did give in to his urge.

"You can do it, too," he said, no longer with the usual smugness.

"Yeah. How so? I can't read minds," she answered.

He sighed, with a small smile.

"It's not minds I'm reading," he confessed. "It's just a matter of observation. It's just a trick, and you're impressed by it, and that is what keeps you from seeing how simply it's done. Now, if you pay attention, it's easy to do."

Lisbon stared at him, waiting for the explanation.

"I was simply observing where each person was sitting and how they behaved; if they seemed to be anxiously looking out the window or if they seemed relaxed like they still have a long way to go. See, that guy, for example, is nervous for a different reason; he's late, and the slow traffic makes him anxious."

She watched the guy, paying close attention.

"People choose their seats, when there are seats to choose from, of course, according to how close they should be to the exit to be able to get off. You can also tell who's not a usual passenger on the bus because they sit near the door anyway and look closely out the window, paying attention to where they're going."

Jane was somewhat proud to see that Lisbon was nodding in agreement while she observed the people around them. His explanation really did make perfect sense to her.

"Pay attention to that man," he instructed, indicating a man in his late thirties who was entering the bus.

They watched it silently as the man walked past them and took his seat. Jane turned to Lisbon.

"He entered the bus with his eyes intent on the back seats; he sits there, arms crossed, in a comfortable position, barely paying attention to where the bus is going. What does that tell you?"

She shrugged.

"He's probably not getting off very soon?"

"He's even entertaining the thought of taking a little nap."

She gave it a little more thought.

"He's getting off at the end of the line?"

"Yes! Go girl."

Jane looked really proud; Lisbon had to smile.

"How can we know I was right?" she asked. "We're getting off before him."

"We can stay, just to see," he suggested.

No, they couldn't! Lisbon had consciously let him show off and then, for some reason, teach her the trick, but some things were more important than others; she had to be at the headquarters for Jordan Maple's interrogation. Jane was like a child; someone had to give him boundaries.

"No," she answered strictly, not a trace of the camaraderie of a moment before left. "We have real work to do."

"Ouch," Jane reacted, feigning offense.

"Interesting trick, though," Lisbon commented lightly, with a smile.

"Thank you," Jane said, smiling proudly.

"Makes me wonder how many of your supernatural readings are nothing but tricks like this one."

Jane just smiled, eyebrows raised. That's when Lisbon's phone rang. She took it out of her pocket.

"Lisbon."

The voice on the other end was Cho's and it sounded unusually nervous. Without any introductory meanderings, he just told her there had been an accident.

"What kind of accident?" she said, her voice becoming instantly nervous and her hand's grip tightening around the phone.

At seeing her so suddenly alarmed, Jane became alarmed himself.

"A guy in a motorcycle came shooting at us, and he was no doubt aiming at Jordan Maple. He's dead."

Lisbon found it weird that he was calling that an accident. Her silence probably told him as much, because he completed his report.

"Byrne was shot. He was driving and lost control of the car. We're in an ambulance right now."

"And how are you doing?" she asked hurriedly. "How is he?"

"I'm fine, just a couple bruises. But he's not so good."

"Oh my God… Oh God… Which hospital are you going to?"

She listened to the answer and hung up the phone with her hands trembling.

"I need to get off the bus," she said, more to herself as she seemed to be barely acknowledging Jane's presence. "Cho and Byrne were in an accident, I have to go see them in the hospital."

"I'm coming with you," Jane said, standing up and following her towards the exit. At the bus's next stop, they got off.

Lisbon was glad that he took on the task of calling them a cab, because she couldn't concentrate on the cars as they passed. She only noticed when one stopped right in front of them and Jane held the door open for her to get in it. As he sat next to her trembling figure, Jane felt an urge to hold her and comfort her.

"Where to?" the driver asked, pulling him back to the present situation.

Lisbon's faint voice said the name of the hospital, and the driver sped up. Feeling that urge again, Jane put a hand on her shoulder.

"They're going to be fine," he said. "I'm sure of it."

"How do you know?" she asked, rather sharply. "Did you have a vision or something?"

Jane sighed, shaking his head. For the first time, he felt truly tempted to tell somebody that he didn't have any psychic powers, mainly because there was no such thing. Still, he only shook his head, keeping his hand on her shoulder. She didn't try to remove it from there.

At the hospital, they were about to identify themselves and ask where Cho and Byrne were, when Lisbon saw Rigsby. She almost ran towards him.

"How are they?" she asked, grabbing one of the agent's arms in a tight grip.

"Cho's just being bandaged, he had a few cuts, nothing deep. Byrne is going through surgery."

"Oh God," Lisbon muttered, the color fading from her mouth.

Rigsby pulled her to an embrace, saying something softly to her. Jane imagined it was something comforting, like what he had said in the car, about how her team members were going to be all right. He felt something weird as he watched them hug, some kind of envy, like he wished to belong to that team and be as close to those people as they were to each other. What a silly thing, he thought; that was exactly the kind of feeling he never had, except towards his family. Not long after Lisbon pulled away from Rigsby and the three went to a waiting room to sit, Cho appeared.

"It was a hit," were his first words. "Clearly. Red John hired someone to kill Maple, get rid of him and the information he could give us about him."

"Without Maple, we have nothing," Lisbon said. "We're back to square one."

Jane wished there was something that he could say or do to help the team with the case, but this time he really had nothing. Red John was clearly more powerful than anyone could have ever thought; how could he have known that the CBI had his man and where they were going? Anyway, it was starting to get dark outside and Jane had a family waiting at home.

"Uh, Lisbon…" he said, making her notice his presence in the waiting room for the fist time. "If you guys don't mind, I'm going to go. Wife and kid at home, you know."

"All right," Lisbon answered, visibly shaken and being much kinder than usual. Well, the usual of having known her for one day, Jane reminded himself. "Thank you for everything."

"You're very welcome," he replied, her thanks coming as a surprise. "I hope your colleague gets better. Good night you all."

He nodded, then left.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Sorry once again for the late update and thanks to the readers for being so patient! I think this chapter has a different tone to it from the previous ones. Please let me know what you think of it! **_

* * *

6.

Arriving home and meeting his daughter, having her eyes light up at the sight of him, her hands drop whatever she was holding and her legs run as fast as they could until she rested safely in his arms was one of the sensations Jane loved the most in life. To feel her light weight against him, take in her delicious scent, hear her sweet voice telling him about the things that had happened during her day. Sometimes he would just sit with her on the floor in the living room, take off his shoes and play with her for a long time, without even bothering to change out of his suit first. And tonight, after the tough and unusual day he had had, Charlotte was all he needed to get rid of the stress.

Angela arrived in the living room to find him sitting on the couch with Charlotte on his lap, both with huge smiles on their faces. She smiled widely at them. Jane gestured for her to join them and listened to her as she told him about what she had done that day, where she had gone. Charlotte would constantly interrupt to make remarks or simply tell stories of her own, eager to become the center of the conversation. Jane saw himself in her; he had always enjoyed entertaining the adults with his stories and tricks as a child. He figured his baby girl would be no different.

He could picture himself teaching her his best tricks, she only needed to grow up a little more. At her current age, she still had the innocence of telling the whole truth to whoever might ask. He wouldn't, however, encourage her to make a living out of her power of pulling out tricks perfectly like his father had done to him. He would teach her that there was a wrong side to taking advantage of others. He hoped she would be a better person than he was when she grew up, because, deep down, he didn't like what he did. Or at least, he wished he didn't enjoy being smarter than most people and taking advantage of them because of it. He didn't want his daughter to enjoy that.

Maybe he wouldn't teach her any tricks, after all. Well, he would still have plenty of time to decide.

Not much later, they put Charlotte to sleep. Then, Angela heated dinner for him, because they had already eaten by the time he had arrived. As he ate, they talked, and Angela asked about his day and the investigation. He felt tempted to tell her all about Lisbon, about how strong and authoritative and easily irritable she was and even how much he thought, for some reason, that the two women would get along. Instead, however, he decided to keep it short and told her simply that the case was now with state police, and that he had worked with them that day. Then he commented, honestly, about how he had found the agents to be very competent, and bragged how he had helped them catch a suspect. He was going to tell her that, in the end, he had been killed, but decided not to because she was certainly going to be worried, thinking that he might have gotten hurt as well.

After he ate, he took a shower and then went to bed, where Angela already lay, waiting for him. She cuddled up against his chest and they fell asleep not long after that; Jane was so used to falling asleep with her in his arms that he imagined that, should he ever need to spend a night alone, he wouldn't be able to sleep at all.

* * *

"Patrick Jane," Cho said, as serious as ever.

"No," Lisbon replied, incredulously. She didn't have, however, any arguments to back that negative up.

"I think Cho's right, boss," Rigsby added. "Jane has been in a position to know everything, right from the beginning. He was working with the police, and they never had anything on Red John. And now, that he's with us, we catch a suspect just to lose him a few minutes later."

"A suspect that _he _caught for us," Lisbon retorted.

"Because he knew who it was all along," Cho said, as though stating the obvious.

Lisbon was shaking her head. They were at the same waiting room where they had been the night before; Byrne's surgery had lasted for most part of the night, so they had been advised to go home and come back in the morning for news on their colleague. She had resisted; she had wanted to stay for the night, but Rigsby and Cho had convinced her they were in the middle of a case and she would be of much more help if she was back the next morning after having rested.

They had arrived not very long before that and were still waiting for news on Byrne's condition; Cho had then raised the suspicion that someone on the inside must have given John Maple's location to the shooter.

"I know you've somehow come to trust him," Cho started, "and you're not easily deceived, but…"

"I _haven't_ come to trust him," Lisbon interrupted sharply. "I barely know him. _We_ barely know him. I just didn't think that he would…"

Lisbon didn't finish that sentence. It did make sense if he was a traitor and somehow connected to Red John. There was just something telling her he wasn't.

At that moment, a doctor came into the room and told them Byrne's surgery had been successful and that he was recovering as expected. The doctor also said that he had just woken up, so if they wished to see him, they were allowed, one at time. Lisbon went first.

The sight of the young man lying on a hospital bed, looking so weak and fragile, broke her heart instantly. She knew it was stupid to have such a motherly or, rather, sisterly instinct towards him, but it was something she had given up trying to fight a long time ago. At the sight of her, he smiled lightly. She smiled back.

"Boss," he murmured.

"How are you feeling?" she asked when she reached the bed, standing next to it.

"Like I've been shot," he replied, playfully. Then, with a serious expression, he gave his real answer. "Maybe I'm not cut out for this."

"What do you mean?" Lisbon asked, surprised.

"I mean that maybe I'm not good enough for this job," he explained.

"Don't be silly…" Lisbon interrupted.

"Or maybe the job is not the best for me."

Lisbon didn't answer. Her foolish instincts agreed with him. However, she didn't want to discourage him. She decided not to say anything, and just took his hand, looking deep into his eyes. As he stared back, it was like they shared an unspoken piece of the conversation. A few minutes later, then, Lisbon spoke again, now on a different subject.

"Alan… do you think I'm gullible?"

He scoffed, squeezing at het hand.

"You? What kind of question is that? Are you kidding me?"

His surprise made her laugh.

"Why?" he wanted to know.

"Nothing important," she answered. "Thanks, though."

Gullible or not, Patrick Jane had most probably made a fool of her. He had used his efficient tricks on her and it had worked like a charm. She felt really stupid. And yet, there was still something telling her he wasn't the one who had contacted the shooter with the location of the CBI car that was taking the suspect back to the headquarters. That made her remember that, after the arrest, Jane had been with her at all times; he hadn't used a phone or any other kind of communication devices, unless he had used yet another trick to pass the message on. One way or another, he was going to have to explain himself.

She met Cho and Rigsby out in the hallway.

"After you say hi to Byrne," she said, "go pick Jane up."

* * *

Angela had just left to take Charlotte to school when Jane heard a knock on the door. He had just finished getting dressed, even thought he didn't know what he was going to do for the day yet. He was expecting a call from the CBI about their next move on the Red John case, or a call from the CBI, more specifically from Lisbon, trying to tell him his services had been appreciated but he was no longer needed – because she was way too proud to admit his help had been really useful. The thought made him smile. He wasn't, however, expecting a knock on the door. And he wasn't expecting to find agents Rigsby and Cho when he opened the door.

"Good morning, fellas," he said, with a huge smile. "Didn't expect to hear from you so early." Then he went serious again, with the sudden memory of the previous day's incident. "Is your colleague all right?"

"Mr. Jane," Cho started, with his cop attitude turned on. "You're going to have to come with us to answer a few questions."

Jane frowned.

"The way you say that makes it look like I'm a suspect."

"Mr. Jane, if you refuse to come voluntarily," Rigsby threatened lightly, "we're going to have to arrest you."

"Oh no, nobody's getting arrested here," Jane said, already closing the door behind him. "I'm glad to come with you."

He walked with the two agents towards their car, but gestured towards his own vehicle.

"Can I drive my car? I'll follow you." At the agents' disapproving look, he added: "One of you can ride with me to make sure I'm not running away."

The two exchanged a look and Cho obliged, walking with Jane towards his Citroën. The agent seemed to like the car, and maybe that was even the reason why he had agreed to let Jane drive it to Sacramento.

"It wasn't working yesterday," Jane commented. "But after I left the hospital I had it checked and it was nothing serious."

"I bet your wife doesn't like it," Cho said, making Jane smile.

"She hates it. How do you know?"

"Women like comfort, technology. They don't understand why guys like antique cars."

The two men entered the car and took their seats.

"You ever been married, Cho?"

"Nope," the agent replied. "I know those things because I happen to be a trained interrogator."

Jane guessed he already knew what he was doing for the day; he was going to be locked up in an interrogation room with the not so friendly agent Cho.

* * *

To Jane's surprise, though, the person who entered the interrogation room after he had been there waiting for a while was not Cho. It was Lisbon. Somehow, she seemed to look even prettier today. Jane couldn't quite tell what it was. She just looked prettier. Breathtaking, actually. She looked defiantly at him, and he noticed there was some kind of energy between them at that moment, something electric. That was sexual attraction, no doubt. Jane knew and didn't refuse to acknowledge that he was attracted to her. It was his opinion that the men who tried to fight or contain or suppress the attraction they felt towards other women were the ones who ended up cheating on their wives.

He was different. He wouldn't deny that he was attracted to agent Lisbon. He wouldn't deny that, in a different reality, he might ignore where they were and what they were doing and just get up from where he was sitting, pin her against a wall and test just how much the attraction was reciprocal. He wouldn't deny that, at the first sign that her resistance might fail, as she stared challengingly at him, their faces only an inch apart, he would seize her lips without hesitation and, as soon as she stopped pretending she didn't want it as much as he did, he might even have her right there and then. He wouldn't deny, also, that he might even fall in love with agent Lisbon. She sure was puzzling and challenging, and he was certain there were many more layers to her that he would love to uncover.

In a different reality. In a reality in which he didn't have Angela.

"Good morning," she was saying as she approached the table, slowly. "So we meet again."

"Yes. Did you miss me?" he teased.

She feigned a smile during a second and then her expression went back to annoyed mode. She sat down, opposite to him.

"Before you start questioning me," Jane said, "just think for a moment. You know it wasn't me."

She stared blankly back at him.

"I don't know anything."

"Yes you do. I was with you the whole time."

"Lord knows what tricks you might have pulled that escaped my eyes."

"Lisbon… really?"

He really seemed incredulous at the fact that she suspected him. She sighed, because that voice telling her he wasn't guilty was now screaming. Looking at him, she was sure it wasn't him. He looked like he was waiting for an answer, but she didn't have one.

That was when the door opened abruptly to reveal Cho.

"Boss, I'm sorry to interrupt but I need to talk to you."

Lisbon took one last look at Jane, then left the interrogation room. That was the last time he saw her in quite a long time.


	7. Chapter 7

**_Besides thanking you readers for being patient and for sticking to this story, I also wanted to inform you that after this chapter there will only be one more. Of course, things can always change, but probably not this time. I hope you enjoy this, please let me know what you think. :)_**

* * *

7.

Cho and Lisbon moved away from the interrogating room so Jane couldn't see them. Then, the agent showed his boss a small piece of paper, kept inside an evidence bag.

"Byrne was taking a nap. When he woke up he found this on the nightstand. Called us immediately. Rigsby went there, retrieved this."

He handed it to her. On the piece of paper there was an excerpt from a poem Lisbon found familiar from Literature classes at school, a long time ago. The handwriting was elegant and graceful, almost like that of a teacher's.

_The wild winds weep, _  
_And the night is a-cold; _  
_Come hither, Sleep, _  
_And my griefs enfold! . . . _  
_But lo! the morning peeps _  
_Over the eastern steeps, _  
_And the rustling beds of dawn _  
_The earth do scorn. _

"Any prints?" Lisbon asked.

"Nope," was Cho's non-enthusiastic answer. "But forensics already has a copy. They're analyzing the handwriting as we speak."

"No one saw who left it there?" Lisbon asked, with a pretty good idea of the answer.

"No. But I've sent guards over to watch his room."

Lisbon didn't answer; she was looking away, trying to remember whose poet that was, because she remembered studying that poem.

"Blake," she said, as suddenly as the name occurred to her in her mind. "It's Blake's."

"Yes it is, it is," Cho said. "It's called Mad Song."

"Blake!" she said, her eyes widening.

Cho looked confused.

"Yes, you just said that and I said…"

"The man we met with," she interrupted him, "when we pretended we wanted to buy a house. He said his name was Blake!"

Cho seemed to take a while to figure out what she was talking about, while Lisbon started to walk away after having barely finished that sentence. Cho interrupted her, though.

"Boss, what about Jane?"

She stopped, and turned around to look at him. She was glad she could trust her gut on this one. Somehow, though, it seemed like she didn't feel good just because of that; rather, she felt something other than just the satisfaction of being right; it was almost like she felt… relieved, for some reason. She found herself making an effort to contain a smile as she answered.

"He has nothing to do with this. Cut him loose."

* * *

So that was it. After bringing him all the way to Sacramento, the Serious Crimes Unit of the CBI had just decided they didn't suspect him anymore and sent him away, with not so much as a goodbye or a thank you. Okay. Jane walked to the elevators, glancing at the bullpen and at Lisbon's office, not seeing much but catching the vibe that something was going on; maybe a new lead. He was almost hurt that nobody had even bothered to tell him about it. Whatever. The elevator doors opened and he entered it, checking the time. If he drove fast enough, he could make it to lunch with Charlotte.

When he reached the lot, his cell phone rang; a client wanted an appointment. It was a woman, rich, of course, not older than thirty-five by the sound of her voice. Her father had just died and she felt like they still had unfinished business; she wanted to tell him things she had never told him while he was alive. Blah, blah. Somebody had told her about his services, same old, heard that he was the best at what he did. Well, he guessed he was back to his usual routine.

* * *

Apparently, the man who had claimed to be called Blake had been so proud of having escaped without being made that he had decided to leave a riddle in the room of his surviving victim. The thought of him standing next to a vulnerable, sleeping Byrne, sent chills down Lisbon's spine. However, as expected, by the time the clue was found and deciphered, there was nothing left to find. The guy belonged to Red John's network, after all, and clues were never left; if they were, they were quickly disposed of before the police could get their hands on anything. That was already a pattern in the case.

It was one of the most frustrating things for a cop, and for Lisbon particularly, to have their hands empty: an unsolved case, still open, waiting for more evidence, which meant new deaths. With nothing that could be done about it until then. She was sharing that dissatisfaction with Byrne, whom she had wanted to see at the end of that day, to make sure he was all right after the unexpected visit.

As it turned out, he seemed okay; he had been scared, of course, to find that someone had been there while he was asleep, and could have easily finished the job of killing him, had they wanted to. He told her once again about the possibility of leaving his job.

"It will take me a while to recover anyway," he said, "you should start looking for someone to stay in my place."

"It's good that it will take you some time to recover. You can use it to think about it instead of making any important decisions in a hurry. And when you're good as new, your job will still be waiting for you."

Byrne smiled, and Lisbon could swear she detected a hint of relief there. Maybe he still wanted the job and was just scared that she might blame him for the death of Jordan Maple. What a silly boy. She didn't want to rush him into deciding anything about his career from a hospital bed. If he should ever come to decide he wasn't fit for the job or the job wasn't fit for him, he would do that after enough pondering and after he was back in the field.

"Thanks, boss," he said.

"You're welcome," she replied, holding his hand, then let it go and stood up. "Well, I gotta go. I'll be back tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay," he said as she was already walking towards the door.

"I hate serial killers," she said, turning around to look at him once more before leaving him with a sigh, and a quiet wave of her hand.

* * *

As Lisbon had predicted, the Red John case had gone completely quiet for months after that. Actually, pretty much everything seemed to go quiet at the time. Against her will, Lisbon found things a bit too quiet and normal at work after Jane was gone, even though he had only belonged to the team for a day. Frustrating as it might have been to try and not be able to completely control him or figure out his next moves, he had been helpful and, truth be told, a novelty in their usually predictable, methodical work.

She even wondered if they would ever work together again, when Red John made his next appearance. Would he volunteer his talents and expertise? Well, _she _certainly wouldn't go after him, asking him to work with them. Even if he had been helpful, she could tell that more than just a few days with him would have meant a lot of trouble to her. She chuckled at herself as that thought crossed her mind. God forbid she ever had to put up with him for longer than a week!

After meeting the psychic, she noticed there were quite a lot of people who claimed to have clairvoyant powers. There were ads everywhere, offering all kids of services; from making contact with loved ones who had already passed away and getting glimpses of what might happen in the future to finding out about past lives. She had never really believed in that kind of thing, neither did she believe in them now, but Jane's talents, whatever they were, had really impressed her.

She didn't want to think much about how else he had impressed her; she had already admitted to some kind of physical attraction, but even if he _weren't_ a married man, which he _was_, and happily married, it seemed, his personality was certainly one she couldn't stand to live with for very long. So no, she was not considering that any further. Okay, the man was handsome. But as soon as he opened his mouth, whatever attraction she might have felt would fall apart. And that was the end of the internal discussion.

As months passed, though, Jane slowly faded from Lisbon's thoughts. If in the beginning many things would remind her of him – like advertisements of psychic services or the rare event of seeing someone wearing a three-piece suit, those thoughts of the inconvenient and peculiar man were properly catalogued as memories and shut down in a box inside her head. So much that a certain night, when she turned on the TV, she was more than surprised to recognize his familiar face on a talk show she rarely watched, but had ended up on due to the lack of other interesting options of nightly entertainment.

"Oh my God," escaped her lips.

It was him. Upon seeing his face again, she realized she had almost forgotten what he looked like. He was handsome, she admitted once more, even though he looked a bit different with his hair molded back with a thick layer of gel and a grey suit with a tie, and no vest. He was performing. She watched as he pretended to help someone from the audience get in touch with her father. She found herself shaking her head many times as she watched it. It was probably just like the bus trick he had taught her; he was following the woman's signs, that's how he knew what to say, what she wanted to hear. What a career choice, she thought, a professional liar.

As soon as that performance was over, Jane sat down with the hosts, who seemed very impressed, and who also started asking him about his work helping the police with the Red John case. Lisbon tensed, wondering if he was going to reveal any confidential details, anything that wasn't supposed to be released to the media. Or if he was going to mention her. Or the CBI. He did none. He talked a little about Red John's psychological profile, the one Sac PD had come up with, certainly with his help, even though he actually called it a "psychic fix". She watched as he said he seemed to have a connection to this case, and it made her curious: how had he first got involved with the case anyway? Could it be possible that he might have really had a vision or some kind of premonition about the case?

The show soon ended and Lisbon turned off the TV. She yawned as she got up from the couch and stretched, then climbed up the stairs towards her bedroom. She was suddenly very aware of how tiring that day had been and all she wanted was to fall into a satisfying, restful sleep.

* * *

Wrong as it was to deceive people, Jane had to admit he really enjoyed the feeling of seeing so many people, say an audience, impressed by his skills, even if they didn't know which they _really_ were. After receiving many congratulations from the hosts, producers, directors, and a few people from the audience who had managed to get past security to come to him, especially to ask him for a consult – to which he responded politely with a card, so they could call to consult on availability and _prices_ –, he finally left, and he was anxious to get home. He wondered if Angela would have watched – she didn't like his work, but that was an important appearance; his number of clients was going to skyrocket after that, which was good for their family. So he would be a bit hurt if she hadn't watched. He just wished she had, even if she had done so with a frown.

It was, in his opinion at the moment, a long drive from Los Angeles to Malibu. Tired as he was, it would probably have been smarter to have stayed the night in LA and driven home in the morning, but he didn't like the feeling of being away from his family for very long. If he ever worked away from home, he would always feel anxious to be back as soon as he was finished. So he drove on the same clothes he had worn for the show – a grey suit, with white shirt and a tie, whose grip around his neck he had already loosened – not at all worrying about the speed limit, anxious to turn around the corner to his street, park in front of his property, enter his house, his _home_, go up those stairs as fast as he could, check on his sleeping daughter, lay a kiss on her cheek, then get to his bedroom and find his wife, quickly change his clothes only to find his place on the bed next to her, and fall asleep with his arms tight around her.

And it took him way too long, he thought, to finally arrive. When he parked his car in front of the house, he exhaled in relief. With the mail in his hand, he turned the key on the door and entered. The house was barely lit and completely silent – they were asleep, just as he had imagined. He went up the stairs, smiling, anxious to finally see them, to finally be able to rest where he belonged. He was heading to Charlotte's bedroom when he noticed something. There was a sheet of paper fixed to his bedroom door. His brow furrowed. It didn't look like a drawing – Charlotte would sometimes fix them to the walls and doors all over the house, but that particular sheet of paper seemed like it had text written on it. Actually, a few steps closer, he saw it was text _printed_ on it.

Maybe it was a joke; but Angela didn't usually make jokes. Anyway, he approached it, still with a shade of that smile he had brought on his face since he had entered through the front door. It faded, though, when he got close enough and was able to read what was written.

_Dear mister Jane,__  
I do not like to be slandered in the media, especially by a dirty money-grubbing fraud.  
If you were a real psychic, instead of a dishonest little worm, you wouldn't need to open the door to see what I've done to your lovely wife and child._

He instantly felt sick to his stomach. It _had _to be a joke. Who would make such a stupid joke? He certainly had pissed a lot of people off before, but… Red John wouldn't… he wouldn't really care about him, about what he had said…Would he? With that last bit of hope that he would open the door and see nothing but a bad joke behind it, he slowly pushed the door open. Then he saw it. The face. Like the many he had seen before. He swallowed, not wanting to turn his head, knowing what he would see next. He didn't want to see that. He pressed his eyes shut for a moment, knowing that would be the last moment in his life that he would live without that sight glued to his eyes. Then he opened them again.

* * *

The insistent ringing of the phone woke Lisbon up. She heard it ringing for a long time before she managed to wake up, tired as she was, and when she did, she had the impression it had been ringing for a couple of minutes. She picked it up and heard Minelli's voice.

"Lisbon," he said, some kind of urgency in his tone.

"Yes, boss," she answered, glancing over at the alarm clock – what could be so important that he would be awake at such hours, calling her? She found out soon enough.

"Red John has killed again. You're not gonna believe who the victims are."


	8. Chapter 8

_**So, this is the final ch**__**apter, a bit longer than the other ones. I would like to thank everyone who has supported this story, about which I was initially so unsure about, and of which I am now sort of proud of, firstly because I was able to write it and finish it, but also because I like the result, as simple and unpretentious as my writing has been here, probably much more than in my other stories. **_

_**As**__** I started writing the first few lines of this story, ideas for its last chapter started coming to me in an incontrollable fashion and generated about 95% of what you are about to read. I can thus say that most of this chapter has existed since before I even had a first chapter. **_

_**I hope you enjoy this; please let me know if you do! :) **_

* * *

8.

Lisbon felt her breath catch in her throat as she saw his figure, sitting on the sand, contemplating the waves. She debated in her mind whether to approach him or not, but she ended up deciding to do it. Flashes of the images of his wife and daughter's bodies covered in blood, inside the house right behind her, kept troubling her vision as she slowly walked towards him, feeling the beginning of tears form in her eyes. She had been told that Jane had called 911 with a calm voice, and informed the police of what had happened; she had also been told that he had found the bodies about an hour before he had actually made the call. He had commented that he had been in no rush; they were already dead when he arrived.

The officers had also told her that he had been found holding his daughter in his arms and laying his head on his wife's shoulder, and that it had been difficult to make him understand why he shouldn't have moved any of the bodies from their original positions in the crime scene, not to mention why he had to leave. He argued that he had only called the police to report their deaths. His apparent calm was, according to the officers, a sign that he was actually dangerously disoriented. Lisbon was now standing next to him, and he didn't seem to notice her presence.

"Jane…" she said hesitantly.

He looked up at her and smiled lightly. There was something different in his eyes, she observed, besides, of course, the fact that they looked red and swollen, certainly from having cried for a long period of time. What she saw in his eyes was unresolved confusion and desperation, building up to strike again later, when he realized that he was alone. It had happened to her, except that she had, after all, had her brothers to look after, which had forced her to remain sane. He had nobody left.

Jane was surprised to see her, for some reason. But now, thinking about it, of course she would be here. Red John had attacked again, and it was the CBI's case.

"Hi, Lisbon," he said.

She sat next to him, trying to find the words to say, because she knew _how are you_ was a stupid question at a moment like this. People had asked her that question and she had wanted to punch them in the face for asking it. After some silence, during which both just watched and listened to the waves, she decided to be honest.

"You're going to need help," she said, in a firm voice that brought Jane back from his almost trance-like state.

"I'm fine," he looked at her. His voice was calm, almost serene.

"I know you are," she retorted, "or at least you _think_ you are now. But there will come the time when you'll realize what has happened. I mean _really_ realize. And you're going to break. You're going to crumble."

He just looked at her, watching as tears quietly came rolling down her cheeks with no effect on her steady, lecturing voice. Those were the words and the tears of someone who had been where he was now.

"So who did you lose?" he asked.

After a while staring at him in silence, she answered. "My mother. In a car crash. Drunk driver."

They stared at each other in silence for another long moment; Jane could tell that was not all.

"And my father," she went on. "Killed himself."

That was visibly a long story short, but her expression told him that was all she was going to share for the moment.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I really am."

She sat there, next to him, in silence, for a very long time, just keeping him company, and it made him think that only someone who had suffered that kind of loss would know that there was really nothing that could be said. Deep into her eyes, he could see the amount of pain that she felt, but that she wouldn't let anybody see, that she would force herself to hide, every single day. It made him admire her, see all the strength beyond the gun and badge. And it made him smile that she was the only person sitting next to him through the worst time of his life. His only friend, he thought.

"Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome," she answered, in a faint voice, without facing him.

* * *

After that, Patrick Jane's memory was blurry; he only had flashes, bits and pieces of what happened next. He knew that, after a while, Lisbon and her team had decided to leave, insisting to drop him off some place where he could spend the night, and he must have accepted, because he had the memory of a motel room where he had cried all night. And he also remembered having started to break the room at some point. He remembered throwing the nightstand against the wall, where he could swear there were smiley faces painted with his wife and child's blood. He remembered breaking the windows with his bare hands. He remembered lifting the bed – with lord knows what strength – and turning it over against the wall, all the while screaming in rage.

Then he remembered hearing a loud sound of something pounding against the door, then there were people breaking in, holding him, forcing him to walk out of the room. He didn't remember what he screamed, but he remembered the feeling of his throat becoming sore from letting his voice out so loud. Then he was in a car, and his hands were tied, or handcuffed, he wouldn't know. The next flash was from inside what looked like a jail cell, and there was a familiar voice: Detective Willow, he recognized. He spoke a lot, but all Jane could remember him saying was that he would help him, and everything would be all right. That he didn't have to worry.

Then nothing. Then white; white clothes, a white room, white sheets. Except for the red in the smiley faces that appeared in the wall. He kept asking the nurses – he figured they were nurses – to find a way to make the smiley faces stop appearing, but they insisted he was the one painting them. No, he wasn't. It was Red John. He would repeat it, incessantly; it was Red John. But they kept insisting it was him; to convince him, they showed him how he had hurt his own arms, with his own teeth and fingernails, and used his own blood to draw the faces. That made him collapse: was _he_ Red John?

There seemed to be a long blackout after that, because, in Jane's next memories, things seemed less confusing and he remembered feeling calmer. There were no faces on the wall, no wounds in his arms. Instead of the nurses, he remembered a doctor; a woman, with an angelic face, who would come and talk to him, with her calm, soothing voice. Every day, she would repeat her name.

"Hello, Patrick. I'm your doctor, Sophie Miller."

She would talk, and tell him about how he was doing and a lot of other things Jane couldn't really keep his mind into, and, without him ever responding in any way, she would tap him in the shoulder and say she wished he would get better soon. And she would leave.

Until one day he answered.

"Hello, Patrick. I'm…"

"I know," he cut in; there really was no point in repeating that every single day. He knew her. "You're my doctor, Sophie Miller."

It was only after he spoke, though, that he realized how foreign his own voice sounded to him. He must have spent a long time without talking, because even articulating the sounds seemed like some activity from another time, another life.

But Sophie Miller seemed thrilled with the sound.

"That is outstanding, Patrick!" she voiced, touching his arm.

He looked up at her; it was the first time they made actual eye contact. She was smiling widely, and there was something that definitely looked like tears forming in her eyes.

"I think you're on your way of getting out of here," she said, looking proud.

As she left, her words continued ringing in his ears. Getting out of here. Up until then, nothing had seemed important; his mind wouldn't even make an effort trying to absorb information on how and where he was, or why. But he realized now; he was in a mental institution, being treated after a breakdown. A breakdown caused by…

And it all came back to him. He was entering his bedroom again. And he saw their bodies once again. He cried for the following days. Sophie would come and try to calm him down, and she would offer to give him a sedative, but he didn't want to sleep, or forget, or lose sight of what was happening again, so he would beg her not to give him anything.

After a few more weeks, the before was already very clear in his mind; everything that had happened and led to his family's death and to him being locked in this room in a mental facility. He started, then, to figure out the after; what he would do when he left.

There really were no other options: the only thing he wanted was revenge.

He would find Red John and kill him, the same way he had killed his wife and daughter. And to be able to do that, he would have to be considered sane again. So he started to actually have conversations with Sophie when she came to his room. He gained access outside his room; to the backyard, to a TV room, to a canteen for meals. He socialized with other patients. He even started smiling at everyone again. He had to be considered normal again, so he could get out of there and start acting on his plans of revenge.

And, after a while, he was released. Sophie came to tell him in person, and he realized, then, how thankful he was for her help. Once out of there, he called Detective Willow and thanked him as well. He also seized the opportunity to ask if he could go back to his house.

"Are you serious, Patrick?" was Pete's answer. "Why would you ever go back to that place?"

To Jane, it seemed obvious; it was the only thing he had left from his previous life, when he used to have a family. He had no right to abandon it… It was the house he and Angela had chosen, and bought furniture for, and made it the perfect place for little Charlotte. How could he simply give up living there?

Pete Willow wanted to meet him in person, and Jane was worried that the detective might think he needed to be sent to the mental facility once again. So he agreed to meet him; he would use his abilities to make it seem like he was doing great, like he had done to Sophie Miller and the other doctors. He still mastered his craft.

Willow drove him to the house, and entered it with him. He insisted for him to go to a hotel, or to rent an apartment; it wasn't _healthy_ to go back to living there. Jane then reassured him; he just wanted to empty the house so he could sell it. Of course he wasn't going to live there… It would be insane, wouldn't it? Pete seemed a lot calmer after that. He even agreed to help Jane erase his stay in the hospital from his record. When that was done, Jane thanked him profusely again, and told him he would be gone for a while, but Pete was not to worry; he would be fine. He only had to find his way again. Pete made him promise he would contact him if he needed anything. Jane promised, like the thousands of empty promises he had always made in his life.

Jane went back to his empty mansion – emptier of people than of furniture. Empty of anything _human_. He went up to his room, where he had a mattress on the floor, under the smiley face. He really needed to find his way; that part had been no lie. So he spent the next few weeks planning what he would do with his life, so he could fulfill his purpose of getting to Red John.

The first thing he decided was that he would never, _ever_ call himself a psychic again. It made him sick to the stomach to even remember himself doing that. He recalled how he used to think what his father did was wrong, until he realized he had the same abilities, only better, and started enjoying the things he could get in return when he used them. It all only sickened him now. All the money and all the material things that his pretending to be a psychic had gotten him, what was any of that of any use right now, when the only two really important things he had ever owned had been lost forever?

He knew his abilities were all he had left, though, and that it would be stupid not to use them. But he would only use them to get to Red John. That really was his only purpose in life now. He had to kill that sick son of a bitch, and then, after that, he wouldn't care what happened to him, because at least he would have had his revenge. If he couldn't save his family anymore, he could still avenge them; it was the last thing he could do for them. And he would do it, no matter what.

When it came down to decide the practical details of how to actually do it, what he had to do next seemed suddenly clear: he had to join the investigation on the Red John case. Willow had briefly commented that the case was still with the CBI; he would have to join the CBI, then. He remembered Teresa Lisbon, and how he had thought about her as his only friend once. He figured it really was the only option; he would go see her and ask for a job. Something told him she wouldn't say no.

* * *

Lisbon was going through some paperwork from the last case, which the unit had just closed, when the phone on her desk rang. She picked it up; it was from the lobby downstairs.

"There's a man down here, says he wants to speak with you, Agent."

"A man?" she repeated, puzzled. "What's his name?"

"His name's Patrick Jane."

It had been a long time since she had heard that name.

"Send him up," she said. "Thank you."

The last time she had seen him, he had been in bad shape; confused, disoriented, on the verge of a breakdown. She had left him in a motel room, wondering if he would be okay, feeling sorry for not knowing what else to do to help. The next morning, when she called, she was informed he had already left the room, and she simply couldn't gather any information on where he had gone after that or why. She had then decided to call Detective Willow, thinking he might know something. He had, however, been evasive, and told her that Jane had traveled to see relatives. She had sincerely hoped he would be fine.

While she waited for him, now, Lisbon wondered what he might want; maybe he would offer a 'psychic' insight on the Red John case? A few moments later he was knocking at the open door.

She looked up and he gave her a small smile. For some reason, seeing her face was comforting. He could tell she was confused about whether to smile back or not as she stood up to greet him. She settled for the latter.

"Mr. Jane," she said, offering her hand for him to shake, which he did, holding it for a second longer than he had to.

"Agent Lisbon."

She sighed, staring at him.

"How are you doing?" she asked.

He smiled, sadly, and shrugged. That was his answer. She gestured for him to take the seat in front of her, but he didn't wish to sit, so he waved his hand negatively.

"I'm fine here, thanks."

She nodded.

"All right, then." She made a pause. "So where have you been? You disappeared."

"Around…" he answered vaguely.

Lisbon was going to mention the fact that he had been wanted for questioning for a few days after his family's murder, that they had even put out an APB on him, but had stopped looking for him when the coroner had placed his wife and daughter's deaths at the same time as he was participating in a TV show. She decided not to, though; it was awfully irrelevant at the moment. She just nodded once more.

"I see," she said. "So what can I do for you, Mr. Jane?'

He looked intently into her eyes.

"I would like to continue working with you on the Red John case."

She wasn't surprised, but she didn't know what to say. In fact, she had been waiting for him to show up asking for something like that one day.

"Well… the case has been stuck for quite some time now," she said. "We haven't had any evidence, any new clues… and he hasn't shown up since…" she hesitated, and never finished the sentence.

"That's OK," he said. "I can help you out with your other cases in the meantime, and when something new comes up on Red John, I'm already here."

Lisbon wasn't sure about what to do.

"Lisbon," he said, leaning forward to look at her. "Please, I need this. I need to find him."

For a moment, his calm and composed exterior seemed to disappear and, in his eyes, Lisbon was able to catch a glimpse on the damage that horrible tragedy had caused him. They stared at each other like that for a moment, then he leaned backward again, disguise back on.

"And I also need a job," he commented with a shrug and a wide smile.

She frowned. "What about your clients? Your whole… career as a psychic?"

He was suddenly very serious. "There is no such thing as psychics."

"But you…"

"I was a fraud. And I've paid for that. I'm still paying."

"Right," Lisbon said, looking down.

"Please…" he approached her again. "Let me come work with your team."

She looked up at him, and his eyes were appealing to the painful connection between the two of them, the same they had shared that night, while sitting next to each other in a knowing silence, facing the waves. After a long time just staring back at him, she sighed.

"Let me speak to my boss about it," she walked away and left him alone in her office.

Jane looked around him, at the walls in Lisbon's office. He had once looked at them as someone who wasn't going to spend much time in there, who was just passing through. Now, he looked at them knowing they would be where he spent most of his days for who knows how long, until he was finally able to fulfill his purpose.

As for Lisbon, she knew that was the moment to choose between having Jane or not having Jane; somehow, that seemed like a much bigger choice than simply one between easy yet unconventional and troublesome solutions to cases and the usual following of protocol. As the elevator moved up, she tried to start coming up with a list of pros and cons, but then she noticed that, despite any pros and cons she might think of, she didn't really feel like she had a choice. When she was just a girl who had to look after her three younger brothers, she had wished there would be somebody to take her hand and help her, so she couldn't simply turn her back on Jane. Whatever the consequences might be.

The elevator doors opened and, by the time she had walked out into the hallway, she had already decided. Now came the easy part: convincing Minelli.

Not fifteen minutes had passed when Lisbon came back to her office. Jane, who stood exactly where he had been when she had left, turned to face her, an inquisitive look in his eyes.

"HR has been notified and they're already waiting for you," she informed him.

Jane gave her a wide smile, which looked almost like his old smile, except for that something different, deep in his eyes, that which she knew was never going to leave his eyes. As much as she could relate to that, though, she couldn't help but feel a bit scared.

"Thank you so much, Agent Lisbon," he said, sounding sincere.

"Whatever," she said, not quite looking at him and walking right back to her chair behind her desk, as if to go back to the paperwork waiting for her on top of it.

Then, Jane did something Lisbon wasn't expecting at all. He approached the desk and reached out for her hand. Holding it between fingers and palm, he said something.

"No, really, I mean it. Thank you."

They stared at each other for a moment.

"HR, Jane," she said, breaking the silence. "Go."

With an amused smile, he nodded and turned around to leave, on his way to Human Resources. Before going through the door, though, he spun on his feet again.

"Just one more thing," he said, making her look up at him again. "Where can I find the utensils to make myself a cup of tea?"


End file.
